these things, what I was not, what I was told to be, what was prescribed for me, but I had failed. I found myself exiled in my native land.
Surely the commands were clear.
My body obeyed them, my heart could not.
I truly believe he did not think I recognized him.
Did he think me stupid?
I am not stupid. I am intelligent, I think quite intelligent. Do they not want us so?
Surely an intelligent woman should bring a higher price, should be worth more in a collar, a slave collar.
Several days after ending my “game,” after dismissing, as I could, the incident of the store which had so unaccountably stirred, troubled, and startled me, which had so foolishly stimulated and intrigued me, I returned, reconciled and resigned, to my old life, with its habits, predictabilities, and routines. From time to time, of course, I recalled the incident. It was not easy to forget. It idled its way through daydreams, and, more than once, recurred in my dreams, from which I, seemingly rooted in place and unable to flee, would abruptly waken.
I wondered how such dreams might have continued, had I dared to permit them to do so.
One night, I returned home, a Wednesday evening in November, a cool night, late from the store, for we had been open later than usual, for a sale, prepared a small supper, and then, weary from the day, retired. I am not clear what occurred then. It was perhaps the following morning that I awakened, but I am not sure. It may have been days later. It no longer seemed fall, or the same clime. I do not know. In some cases it is apparently days later. Similarly, transportation must be involved, of one extent or another. In any event I was awakening. I was half conscious. I stirred uneasily. Something, it seemed, was quite different. “This one is awakening,” said a voice, in English. I was startled for it was a man’s voice. I supposed myself still dreaming. Then I was not sure. Then I realized I was not dreaming. I was naked, and on my stomach, lying on a hard, wooden floor. I half cried out, a tiny, frightened noise, and went to rise, but a foot on my back pressed down, pinning me to the floor. “Be silent,” said a voice. I was held in place, the boot on my back. Then, after a moment, it was removed. I did not move. I remained still, terrified. I sensed that I was not alone on the floor. There were other bodies about, some supine, some prone. All were female, and all were unclothed, as I, wholly. Some were clearly bound. “Cross your ankles,” said the voice, “and cross your wrists, behind your back, and look to your left.” I did so. I heard one girl scream, and begin to cry out, and then I heard an unmistakable sound, though one I had not heard before, the snapping of a lash on flesh, twice. There was then silence. I understood nothing of what was occurring. I remained in the position in which I had been placed. I must have remained in that position for several minutes, and then I sensed a man crouching near me. Loops of a light, silken cord, like lightning, were whipped about my wrists, and they were tethered together, and, a moment later, my ankles were similarly served. It had all been done with a swiftness, security, and assurance which must have betokened an almost thoughtless familiarity with such matters. Then the fellow was away, attending to another. I tested my bonds. I was helpless, absolutely helpless. Later, I was turned to my back by a man’s foot, shod in one of those thong-wound, sandal-like boots. He looked down upon me, naked, supine, and bound, at his feet. “A half tarsk,” he said, absently, in English. I did not understand him. Then he looked away. It was he, he from the store, from weeks earlier. I recognized him, of course. Had I not seen him a thousand times, in recollections, in casual reveries, in dreams? But I had not before lain at his feet, naked and bound. A bit later, a small ceremony, or what I took to be a small ceremony, was enacted. A coiled whip was placed to my lips. I was told to kiss the whip, and say, ‘La kajira’, with which instructions I readily complied. Had I not earlier heard the snapping of a whip? I feared it,